


When Stars Cross

by ElizaDarling



Series: Just Passing Through [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Dean is kind of a player, Diners, F/M, Post-Prison, Pre-Series, Really he's a bit of a creep to Emma but nothing too bad, Romance, Werewolves, because this is Dean this isn't going to end well, college!Sam, post Tallahassee, waitress!Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaDarling/pseuds/ElizaDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been three years since prison, and all Emma’s problems have been left behind, but not forgotten. That is, until she serves food to a newcomer investigating a murder. Emma has sworn off men forever, but can this green eyed rogue change her mind? And if he can, who’s to say what will last?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a rogue comes in to work on a case in their backwater town, Emma can't help but be both wary of and attracted to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaa, new story already? Yeah, well, I had this one started up around the same time as my last one, and this plot bunny just wouldn't leave my head. Originally this was going to be a oneshot, but it's really getting too long, so it's just going to be a short series of moments, around four, I wanna say? Just a head's up.
> 
> This is gonna be part of a two part series of Dean Winchester hooking up with girls from other shows, preseries. If you've read my profile, you already know who the other girl is, and I have plans to write that one as soon as I'm done with this.
> 
> I absolutely love the idea of Swanchester, but preseries, and I really don't like the HC that Dean could be Henry's father. No, it's established that it's Neal, and I like the idea of Tallahassee crossing over into Emma's consciousness while talking to Dean. So here's this take; hopefully it's decent so far!

" **When Stars Cross"**

**Part 1**

Old Joe starts chewing tobacco, and Emma stifles a groan, leaning forward on the dining counter. Hank only tolerates it because the old geezer has been coming here since God knows when and seriously, with the way he looks, his ticker's almost up. So Emma, like the rest of the employees and patrons at the Five and Dime Diner (which, with a name like that, already indicates how old the place is), just look the other way and pretend not to notice.

Kind of hard, with the way Old Joe's lips form around the gross substance and make a noise that's nothing short of nauseating.

Luckily Old Joe is in Minnie's station today.

Could be worse, Emma supposes. After all, this was pretty terribly on a day-to-day basis, but it wasn't  _prison_. She shudders at the thought; nothing had been worse, but she thanks the stars above that that chapter of her life is done and over, and her old life is left back there, joining foster care, Ingrid's batshit insane nature, Neal, giving up her son.

Sometimes, to amuse herself (or hurt herself more, Emma isn't sure which), Emma pictures her son in the background, coming home to shrieking cries and messy, grabby hands and babble she can barely understand. He's almost three, she thinks, and she hopes to God he's had the luxury of having some nice family adopt him. Sometimes Emma wishes she'd done the parenting thing; most days she's glad she never put herself in deeper trouble trying to make ends meet.

In the end, giving him up was probably one of her smarter decisions.

The familiar trill of the bell at the door indicating a new customer has entered interrupts Emma from her thoughts, and the whole diner stills for a moment, all eyes on the newcomer.

Because he's just that, a  _newcomer_. All the people who eat here are all regulars, all people with miserable lives and nothing better to do in this backwater Virginia town. Everyone here displays an aura of sadness and a need to just escape it all by consuming a greasy burger and a milkshake to chase it down.

It certainly isn't the place for cocky twenty somethings, flaunting their steely good looks and new suits. This man is certainly out of place, with his youthful, freckled face and observant green eyes. Emma chastises herself for staring just a moment too long, but she can't help herself—he's certainly handsome, and he isn't trying to hide it.

The patrons go back to their checkered booths, but the employees are a bit on edge. Who will serve him, what will he order? Why is he even here in the first place? Sure, some newcomers show up once in a blue moon, mostly broke college students and homeless men who have enough for a meal, but certainly not single men in suits, with heads held high and tall statures. Emma is transfixed, confused.

And oh, so trying not to be attracted to him. She's  _sworn_  off men, after what happened with Neal. Coming here ensured she would never have to encounter anyone of the sort again.

Yet here she is, a hunger she didn't know she had surfacing. Damn her for thinking this way!

Minnie seats the man in her section, and Emma puts on a strong face. She reminds herself of what Neal did to her, and that's enough to put her guard up around this man as well. With a deep breath, she approaches him, pen and notepad in hand.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asks, her voice less than enthused.

The man gives her an amused smirk, leaning forward on the table with his elbows. "Usually I'd get a 'hello,' but you just get right down to business, don't you?" he muses, and Emma can feel the blush on her cheeks. "Coffee, if you don't mind."

Emma ekes out a "sure, coming right up" before she quickly disappears behind the counter, wishing she'd handled that better. In looking like she didn't care, she was coming off as rude, and  _damn_ , did she need those tips… she had to move out of the motel soon; soon she'd have to work two jobs just to keep her place  _there_  as well. So she composes herself as she procures an off-white mug and freshly brewed pot of coffee, a smile on her face as she hands it off to the man. "Cream and sugar is next to the napkins," she explains, but the man just takes a sip, black.

"Nah, I'm good," he replies coolly, his smile softening. "So… what do you recommend?"

Emma's never been asked this, in the past few months she's worked here. All the patrons know exactly what they want and how they want it, so the question takes her aback a moment. Blinking at him, she pauses, thinking about it. She's sick of the food here, to be honest—she only tolerates it because there's one necessity she doesn't really need to worry about. But she has to make business, so she just shrugs and answers, "The burgers are pretty popular. We have a special going on—order a burger combo and get a good deal on a slice of pie."

His face lights up as she mentions pie. And how is the pie here?" he inquires, as if it's a life or death question.

Emma raises a confused eyebrow, but she has to admit, Becca's pies are to die for. "Really damn good," she says truthfully.

He breaks into a grin. "I'll take that combo then," he decides. "And I'll fork over a bit extra for some bacon."

Emma scribbles down his order, wondering why a man in a suit would be so enthused about being here. He  _has_  to be passing through, he just has to be. She politely excuses himself and pushes her thick-rimmed glasses up her nose as she gives the order to the kitchen. In the meantime, she gives Leering Tom (named because he stares at  _all_  the waitresses here) a doggy bag, gets some extra ketchup for Old Laura, and refills coffee for the stranger before he beckons her over again.

"Yes?"

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?" he asks, flashing an FBI badge.

Emma's face pales, and her stomach drops. She hasn't done  _anything_  illegal in the past three years, certainly nothing that would get her on the FBI's Most Wanted List!

The man senses her unease, and only glares, confused. "I don't think this should concern you  _too_  much," he tells her, bringing Emma back down to reality. "Wanna take a seat for a second?"

His confusion at least assures Emma this isn't about her. She shakes her head, and stays standing, crossing her arms tight over her chest.

"Agent Townshend," he introduces, holding his hand out for her to shake. Emma takes it, but there's something she realizes as she observes him further.

Her eyes slit. "That's not your real name," she accuses, and she scrutinizes his suit. "And you're not a real FBI agent." At this distance, it looks far too cheap for their regulation, Emma is sure.

Now it's  _his_  turn to pale. "You don't know that," he reasons.

"Like hell I do," Emma defends, crossing her arms again. "Only an idiot would use Pete Townshend's name for their badge. Also your suit's some cheap poly blend, I can see it now." If there was one thing Emma had gotten out of prison, it was her acute sense of telling when people were lysing, to the point where it even scared her sometimes. But she can tell now she's definitely in the right.

His secret's safe, though; he seems pretty harmless despite playing Cops and Robbers.

"Order up!" The bell dings, and Emma knows this is the man's food, so she excuses herself politely and deposits his steaming plate of a greasy bacon cheeseburger and equally greasy fries. As he settles, Emma checks on the rest of her station, collecting tips, clearing tables, plastering a fake smile on her face.

In a few moments, the only person in Emma's section is the mysterious newcomer, and the rest of the diner notices it.

Emma slowly approaches his booth. "How is it so far?"

"Hits the spot," he replies casually, his mouth full as he speaks.

She crosses her arms again. "I'll let you ask me some questions," she decides. She'll humor him; she can certainly hold her own. Before he can speak, though, she adds, " _Only_  after you tell me your real name."

"… Dean," he reluctantly answers after a moment, but Emma knows he's being truthful, and he seems keen on not revealing his last name, so she takes it. Certainly he can read her nametag; she doesn't really need to introduce herself.

"Okay, Dean. Shoot."

He gets down to business, speaking in between bites of his lunch. "You know—or  _knew_ , I should say—a Gil Brown 'round here?"

Emma nods tersely. "Yes… Heard he was mauled by a pretty nasty bear that ate his heart." It makes her a bit more cautious about going out, ever since a few days ago when his body was discovered. "I served him a few times." And wasn't he the misogynistic ass, leaving her very small tips and ordering her around like a maid. Emma isn't particularly  _glad_  he's dead or anything—but let's just say, she felt on a certain level that he had it coming.

"Okay." Dean nods in return, considering her answer. "You know anyone around here who might have held a grudge against the guy…?"

Emma gives him a strange look. "Are you implying Gil was  _murdered_  as opposed to mauled?" she asks.

"Just considering all options."

He's not  _really_  a Fed, Emma knows, but he certainly is sincere in his statements, a very confusing thing to her. Just  _what_  does he do with his life…?

"He wasn't really popular among the waitresses here," she admits. "But he was good friends with Hank, the owner. So we put up with it." Her shrug is nonchalant; Gil was an asshole but she's never acted on it. This job is too important.

"Kind of a misogynistic dick?"

"You could say that." Emma smirks. There's a charm about him, she hates to admit, and it's  _contagious_.

"Huh." He looks up at her, a but too long to be friendly, and Emma raises a brow.

"Something else you want?"

"No, not now… Emma." He's finally read her nametag. "Thanks for your time. Might have to talk to the other girls here, then, get their input."

Ah, so he's a total player. Of  _course_.

"Sure." Emma notices Dean's empty plate and picks it up. "I'll get you that pie, then. What flavor?"

"I'm feeling traditional." He grins. "Apple, if you don't mind."

"Coming right up." And with that Emma is off.

Becca prepares Dean's slice of pie as Emma brings his finished plate to the kitchen. "So lemme get this straight—a  _bear maul_  brought an FBI agent here?"

Emma shrugs. "Guess so… maybe it's an alien," she teases.

Rolling her eyes, Becca hands Emma the plate, a hot slice with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream. "Well, he is very cute, not gonna lie," she admits. "Guess I'll talk to him when you're done flirting."

That wink doesn't go unnoticed. "I've  _sworn_  off men forever," Emma vows, though she can tell Becca doesn't believe her.

The groan that leaves Dean's mouth as he takes a bite of pie shouldn't make Emma feel this way. She clutches the hem of her pale yellow uniform skirt tightly. "You, uh… need a moment there alone?"

"Did you make this?" he asks.

Emma shakes her head and points at Becca, who's dealing with the screaming toddler across the diner. "Becca's the genius behind them."

"Too bad." Dean further elaborates when Emma gives him a bit of a frown. "If you did I'd be in love."

 _Asshole_.

* * *

Minnie gets to leave early, lucky duck. She blames a terrible illness that comes with her period, and Emma has to admit her coworker looks pretty terrible. After a few tense words with Dean, she's out the door, and the fake Fed's prying look isn't one of desire, but  _suspicion_.

Just  _what_  is going on through this guy's mind? He talks to Becca next, complimenting her pie and making her blush. As long as Emma's known her, Becca's been  _dying_  for a good looking guy like Dean to roll into town, like it's some sort of fantasy of hers to be rescued by some guy to get out of here. Good dream, but it's unlikely.

He leaves her a good tip and Emma can't help but think that maybe Dean isn't so bad of a guy. At least she doesn't have to worry about gas money for the next few days.

She isn't around to see his car, but she hears it. Sounds like some old muscle car, the kind of car she definitely associates with someone like him. Maybe for a guy who's more of an asshole. Dean's a player; he's not afraid to show it and already it's worked its way into charming Becca, but Emma can tell that his true passion lies in just that suspicious  _look_  he gave Minnie as she walked out.

So maybe he isn't a real FBI agent, but he's  _something_.

Emma parks her Bug beside a vintage '67 Chevy Impala when she drives back to the motel in which she's currently residing in the outskirts of town. Huh, she didn't see that behemoth earlier—there must be a new tenant. How unfortunate for them to be  _here_ , of all places.

And no, she  _doesn't_  connect it to Dean—sure it's a muscle car, but a guy like Dean is probably hitting on some poor girl in one of the washed up dives in town. She just walks into the dingy room, showers, and falls asleep, all while chastising herself for continuously thinking of green eyes and freckles, all while realizing—she just so happens to have those features, too.

She wonders if her son inherited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say here so far, just kind of establishing where this is going. While mystery definitely isn't my strong suit, this isn't a mystery, it's character feels and potential romance.
> 
> As always, reviews are appreciated!
> 
> ~Eliza


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't show up again until a second body is found. Emma discovers just what Dean finds interesting about her, and tries to figure out if she finds it creepy or a bit endearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say, just here's part two, and I hope you enjoy!

" **When Stars Cross"**

**Part 2**

Minnie looks like crap the next day, as she usually does during this time of the month. Poor girl must have one of the worst menstrual cycles Emma's ever seen—and, again, she's been to  _prison_  and hasn't seen anything so sad. She and Becca sympathize, of course, lending help where they can, but while Minnie always looks grateful, Emma can tell that nothing's helping.

There's always this nagging doubt that Minnie's lying, but Emma can't suspect her coworker of anything—it's like her "superpower" is betraying her. So, as usual, when it comes to Minnie, Emma ignores it.

She needs all the friends she can get.

Becca hands Minnie some Advil and a fresh slice of pie during her break, and Emma brews some tea. There's a silent camaraderie between the three of them—a sort of "we're all in this together" vibe. They don't seem to mind that Emma has been in prison, and Emma doesn't mind some of Minnie's mood swings and Becca's overenthusiasm.

She can sense the beginning of a tryst, however.

And of course, it has to do with a guy: Dean.

"I don't trust him is all," Minnie declares, crossing her arms over her chest. Emma recalls the look Dean had given her earlier and concurs. No, she doesn't trust him. But Minnie has all her defenses up, and is being a bit too quick to judge.

Usually that's Emma's job.

"Why not? He was incredibly nice to all of us," Becca defends, grazing her hand on Emma's arm. "He couldn't keep his eyes off of  _you_." There's a hint of jealousy in that tone, but Emma can tell that Becca isn't too bitter at her, just disappointed.

Emma withdraws her arm and scoffs. " _Me_? I'm  _not_  interested in some pretty boy Fed." Even if he isn't a Fed. But she feels the need to protect Dean's ego for some reason.

" _I_  think it's kind of cute that he's sweet on you," Becca assures, not letting the subject drop. "It's kind of romantic—you're all withdrawn from relationships, and he could persuade you that not all guys are like… well, Neal."

Yes, she's told them about Neal, but she  _never_  mentioned anything about her son—God knew  _what_  they'd think of her if they knew she'd given up her kid like that.

"Yeah, well, if that's the case, I'm still not interested. He doesn't seem too bad, but Minnie's right—we probably shouldn't trust him."

The girls usually let Emma have the last word; after all, they kind of know about how good she is at detecting liars just through observation.

Still, much as she is wary, she has to admit, her conversation with Dean was probably the most interesting she's had in a long time.

* * *

Old Joe turns up in the woods with his heart torn out of his chest a day later, and Dean's back in the diner asking questions. It  _can't_  be a coincidence. Minnie, for once, looks  _amazing_  and  _happy_ , and Becca's getting paranoid about walking home, so Emma offers her a ride home.

Looking out the window, Emma also figures that '67 Chevy Impala parked next to her Bug here at the diner is  _also_  a coincidence.

But, looking around, the only new person in here is Dean, questioning Hank and Minnie about what might have happened.

Son of a bitch.

She gets them all coffee, and the environment in the diner takes on a very somber tone at the loss of its oldest patron. Even she has to admit, there was  _something_  about Old Joe that kind of  _validated_  the rest of the place, gave it a sense of community like this place  _belonged_  on the map no matter how dumpy, no matter how much of a jerk the old geezer was. Yes, Emma even finds herself affected.

Strangely, the only one who seems  _glad_  the man's gone is Minnie.

She couldn't look happier, despite the false frown she wears on her red lips.

Dean sits at Emma's station again. Just another coincidence, yep.

"Welcome back," she deadpans, refilling his coffee. "Should I just get you what you had last time, or do you have more questions for me?"

Shrugging, he looks up at her with pretty eyes, and he  _knows_  they're hard to resist. "Not if you're going to tell me the same as last time."

"You still think it's murder?" she inquires, taking off her glasses to clean them on her skirt.

"Like I said, you've gotta consider all the possibilities…" he trails, before placing a gentle hand on her arm. Emma is about to snatch it away when she notices Dean is regarding her.  _Really_  assessing her.

It makes her feel naked.

"You shouldn't wear those things," he remarks, pointing at her glasses. "They cover up too much of your face."

"I need to see, you know," she quips, but inside all Emma can hear is her rapid heartbeat. Dean is looking it her almost  _painfully_  sincerely, like he sees something she can't.

"… 'Course," he finally answers after a moment, pulling his hand away. And suddenly, he just clears his throat and is back on the case again. Emma's glasses are back on her face.

"You like Minnie over there?" he asks instead.

What the hell? "She's fine. Bit tough, but you kind of have to be to work here," she replies. "But if you're interested, I wouldn't count on it. Becca, on the other hand… She's pretty eager to just do something—"

"What?" Dean interrupts, confused. "No, not like that. Like… have you noticed anything strange about Minnie, lately?"

Is he serious? "She's incapable of murder," she assures. Sure, Gil and Old Joe weren't the nicest to any of them, but Minnie wouldn't  _kill_ … especially in such a sloppy manner.

Just who is this man and what is he doing here?

* * *

Ugh, in her negligence, Emma accidentally left the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the motel door all day. She needs some fresh sheets, damn it. Sighing, she gathers her key and slips on her red leather jacket (one of the only things she has from before Tallahassee) before starting to make her way to the front desk.

A door opening all too quickly almost smacks her right in the face. " _Hey_!" she cries. "Look before you take someone's nose off!"

Of course, who should be on the other side but Dean, who only gives her a boyish smile in return. Emma has to admit, he looks so much  _different_  in a flannel and jeans as opposed to his usual suit.

But damn it, she has a thing for the rugged look, and Dean pulls it off way too well. She hates the fact that  _yes_ , if he did ask, she would probably jump his bones like an idiot, even if she's sworn off men. Emma hates how desperate she is for some support—support that Neal had provided, and she now missed. But she has to stay strong. After what Dean asked about Minnie earlier, there's no way in hell she can trust him yet.

Dean recognizes her and smirks. "Sorry… thought that was your Bug in the parking lot. Guess you really are living here."

Emma sneers, offended. How dare he judge her like that! "Well, you're not much better off," she deadpans, stepping around him. She needs those sheets, pronto.

"Hey, if it's hard times, I know the feeling." He's in step with her, tone of his voice much more…  _empathetic_. "Used to live in nothing but motels most of my life, too."

It was foster homes for Emma. Motels sound like a godsend while making the comparison. But he at least  _gets_  it, to some extent.

He notices her silence and sighs. "Look, I'm trying to not be a jerk, but you keep giving me the cold shoulder. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were hiding something."

"Hm, excellent observation, Sherlock." Emma is far from impressed. Can't he hit on some other girl? Becca is more than interested. "You were just  _born_  to be a fake FBI agent."

"Hey, I'm trying here, okay? You just… really look like you need a friend. I don't know who burned you in the past, but he must have been a real asshole," Dean observes, and even opens the door for her.

Neal wasn't that bad, he just… he  _betrayed_  her so suddenly, just when she thought things were looking really good. It not only confused her, it frustrated her, made her think  _she'd_  done something wrong for the longest time. Even worse, if prompted, she would probably admit that she still loves him.

"He put me in prison," Emma blurts, leaving Dean to process that information as she asks for someone to clean the room. She shakes her head out of its confining ponytail and realizes that she's going to have to drive somewhere for about an hour while waiting. Well, the local bar, while depressing, could pass the time. Or she can just hang out in her car.

"Come on," Dean urges, and Emma raises a brow at him.

"Where?"

"Just come hang out in my room." And there's no innuendo behind it; Emma can tell. His tone is completely innocent, despite the fact that he's flirtatious and knows exactly how to get a woman into bed with just his looks and a few choice words.

It would save her the boredom and the drive… Again, Emma's wary, but it's her best option. Besides, prison's toughened her up. She might be able to take this guy. "… Sure," she agrees after a moment, following him.

He doesn't want sex, that much is clear. He probably just wants to interrogate her further.  _If_  this is still murder, which Emma highly doubts.

Dean's room is minimal, save for his clothes in a duffel bag, toothbrush in the bathroom, and ruffled sheets. Emma stands beside the cushioned chair found in every room here and crosses her arms tersely.

"You still don't like me and I'm gonna try and change that."

"Why? Looks like you're going to be around for much longer," she points out, gesturing to his one bag. "Why concern yourself it it's just one girl from one nowhere town?"

He shifts uncomfortably and sits on the bed. "Because you kind of remind me of my mother," he finally admits.

Emma doesn't know whether to be flattered or creeped out by this statement. So she just smiles uncertainly. "And you find that  _attractive_  in a girl?" she asks instead.

"You don't really act like her, but… the resemblance. I can't help but see a bit of it." It's a vulnerable moment—why he's revealing so much, she's uncertain.

"You didn't answer my question." Emma shifts her weight onto her left foot. "Why do you feel the need to tell me this?"

"I don't know—yes? No? Just a bit. Never met a girl who really pushed me away. I think it's just kind of a  _new_  thing." Dean answers, scratching the back of his head. "But after what you said… I'm sorry. I've been there; I know it."

She suspects something of the sort—he's a bit sketchy. But not a bad person. Emma had that thought of Neal, though—look where that got her.

"Yeah, well… guess you could say we're both screw ups, then. Nowhere to really go and no one to attach ourselves with." All Emma really has is the little money in her wallet, her red leather jacket, and her little yellow Bug. Tallahassee is yesterday's dream; now she just needs to focus on staying anonymous in a bigger city.

"I guess there is something in common between us, then." Dean's still keeping his distance, though. "Just two drifters trying to make a living day-to-day."

"We've no that alike," Emma defends, mostly because she has no idea who this guy is and he shouldn't be making assumptions. As much as he wants to admit that he's not looking for a hookup, his mannerisms now suggest that he's trying to get in her pants.

The silent moments that pass after that are too awkward for the both of them, so Dean tries to fill it.

"You should ditch the ponytail and glasses—works better with the badass jacket you're wearing," he decides to say instead.

Her hair's already down, but Emma doesn't think she can afford contacts. Besides, all Dean's doing is flattering her more. "Yeah, well, I can't always attempt to look good—especially at work. No one's going to care, least of all me." Not like she wants another guy in her life. Ever. Nor does she want an old geezer at the diner slobbering all over her.

"You hate it here," he reasons.

"Just trying to get by," she clarifies.

"See? We do have some stuff in common." He smirks.

There's a part of Emma that wants to say yes, to pour it all out to someone—all the foster homes, all her pain she's ever felt. She can't, though. Growing attached to someone only makes it that much harder to leave. This backwater town is only meant to be a halfway home, until Emma finally straps on her boots and gets the hell out of here.

That's what's dangerous about Dean. He's not looking to settle down here. He can't stand it here, either. Spilling to him is so much more tempting than to, say, Becca.

That's probably why he's telling her so much. He's been through this before, with different towns and different women. Emma is no different in his book.

But if he  _really_  wanted to seduce her, he would have done it already.

She really can't figure this guy out.

"I'm still not ready to admit it."

"You're really scared of opening up," he realizes. "You really think I'm the same as that other guy? I have no good reason for you to ever take the blame for what  _I_  do. That was this guy's problem—he thought of the two of you together instead of individuals so he had someone to take the fall for him if he got in trouble."

Emma, pissed as she is at Neal, doesn't like to hear some stranger talking about him so matter-or-factly. "No. That whole thing was out of character, even for him."

"Or maybe whatever he had with you was out of character, and that betrayal was what he was aiming toward the whole time," Dean reasons.

Emma sneers and walks to the door. She's made that assumption herself, but it hurts to hear someone else say it. Most of all by someone who could betray her in the same way.

" _Wait_." Dean sighs, and Emma hates that she actually pauses.

"What?" She doesn't turn just yet.

"You can ask me something personal. Retaliate."

Is he serious? Emma turns finally. "Why tell me  _anything_  about yourself if you're trying to keep a low profile? About your mother and your past, I mean," she says.

Dean walks up to her and shrugs. "Because you're a challenge. Because you're not like any other girl I've ever met. Because you kind of remind me of my mother, but I… I see parts of myself, too. It's weird, but  _attractive_ ," he admits, and none of it is a lie.

She blinks at him, not knowing what to say.

"You think I'm creepy," he concludes.

"… A bit." She doesn't deny it.

Worse, Emma still finds him damn attractive, and she wants to get to know him  _because_  of what he's just told her. There's still something about him that's drawing her toward him. She  _hates_  it, after her vow.

She doesn't really realize that she's been leaning in  _toward_  him. She doesn't know his last name, his birthday, his phone number, or his family, and that makes it even worse.

It's then Emma's common sense kicks in and she shakes her head, pulling away as she reaches around for the door handle. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, realizing she'd rather feel bored at a bar or in her car than awkward and tense here.

It's not the last time she's going to see him, she knows. What will happen then, that's the scary part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I'm rather bad at doing mystery, but I'm not trying to really focus on that, more on Emma and Dean's relationship. Their parallels are just great, and I really like thinking Dean might be pushing himself on what he likes in a woman. It's just that if and when they ever met up, she would definitely leave an impact on him.
> 
> Also posting for Jensen Ackles' birthday, holla~
> 
> As always, reviews are always appreciated! Let me know what you think!
> 
> ~Eliza


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lines are drawn in the sand, regrets are made, and Emma realizes just what Dean can teach her for the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatttttt, done already? Yeah, well, I couldn't seem to stop with the pen on this one. Probably because I totally knew how I was going to end this. I know this was considerably shorter than my last multichaptered thing, but I'm glad I've been working on something more than just one story. So whatever keeps me going.
> 
> Here it is, part three! Enjoy~

" **When Stars Cross"**

**Part 3**

The results of the autopsies are finally public. Gil had been dead for a month before he was found. Old Joe was mauled exactly one month later.

Minnie hasn't been showing up to work, no explanation, and Becca and Emma fear the worst. Emma avoids the woods when she drives home, and she's more than happy to give Becca a ride at the end of the day. Becca's chatter can get a bit annoying but she means well, and Emma can put up with it if it means she won't be mauled anytime soon.

But her mind always goes back to Dean, and how he suspected Gil and Old Joe weren't mauled, but  _murdered_. It goes back to the look he gave Minnie and the wall she put up immediately as if she  _had_  something to hide. She remembers Minnie always leaving early during that time of the month, because according to her, the lunar cycle and her menstrual cycle are a total bitch.

If that's all true, and all connected, then this belief Dean has is crazier than Ingrid thinking  _she_  has magical powers.

So Emma does what she's best at. She refuses to think it's a conspiracy and remains stubborn. And, when worse comes to worst, she'll run away. She always does.

Once she drops Becca off at home, Emma goes to Minnie's and pales at the absence of life. The whole place is dark; her car's still in the driveway, and the stillness is unsettling.

Emma quickly drives back to the motel and parks next to Dean, without thinking. As soon as she's in the room she shakes and throws all her belongings in the one suitcase she has, going on autopilot. This is her coping mechanism. If the environment is too rough, leave it. There's always another Tallahassee on the horizon.

She has enough to just barely make it out of here. She can do this.

There's a knock on the door.

And of course it's Dean.

"You were really loud getting out of your car," he observes. "What's up?"

She isn't sure why, but she needs the comfort. Emma wordlessly pulls Dean to her and wishes she had a hug like this in prison, or while she was moving around. It isn't like hugging Ingrid, who seems possessive. It's not like half-heartedly hugging Becca back.

It's like hugging Neal—warm, surrounding, assuring. It's what she imagines hugging her absent father would be like. While she should hate Dean, hate what she suspects he did and just how much he's making this a challenge with just his mere presence, she  _can't_  if he's going to be here for her, even if temporarily.

Her morale is  _weak_. She hates herself more than anything.

"Did you kill her?" she asks, muffled against the cotton of his t-shirt. Emma needs to know; she can't have closure until she knows the truth.

"If I told you she  _was_  the murderer and tried to attack me, does that make it any better?" Emma assesses each word carefully. Dean is telling the truth. He must have caught onto her trail, her motive, her pattern, and it was a clash of two opposing forces. Only one could make it out alive.

She can't believe she was stupid enough to never suspect Minnie of anything just for acceptance. Why have acceptance when the truth is just  _that_  much more important? Twice now, she wishes she had that mentality.

Emma can't tell Becca—it would destroy her. Eventually she'll find out.

"I don't know," she answers truthfully. But it's refreshing, as well as terrifying and saddening, to know. To not have suspicions and have the  _raw_  truth. After a lifetime of being lied to, she's just glad to be given only the actuality.

Emma pulls away from Dean and sits on the bed, a bit woozy as she processes the information. Despite the fact that Dean didn't dance around the truth he has still  _killed_  her coworkers, as a fake Fed. All of this was illegal despite this apparently being  _morally_  ethical. While Minnie and Emma aren't— _weren't_ —particularly close, they'd still been through a lot together. And when Becca finds out… God, Emma shouldn't even be in town when it happens. She knows too much and is now part of it—she should report Dean to the police.

She's not going to.

Maybe it's her criminal record, maybe it's because she's scared of what people could dig up on her. Again, she's meant to run away, tail betwixt her thighs.

At least Emma can admit she's a coward.

"You won't… Emma, promise me you're not going to say anything." There is a bit of fear in Dean's voice and eyes. She knows this is the first time he's told someone about this, but he seems comfortable with the actions like it's a  _habit_. Like it's his  _job_.

"I won't," she quietly vows, running a hand through her hair.

The silence is so thick Emma can cut it with a knife.

"Going somewhere?" Dean finally asks, pointing to her haphazardly packed suitcase.

"I don't know," Emma quivers. "I don't know what to do…"

Dean steps up to her and places his hands gently on her shoulders. "Breathe in," he orders.

She does so.

"Breathe out." His voice is soothing, and she blindly listens.

After a few breaths, Dean says, "Now stand up." Emma slowly concedes. He's tall, she now notices.

Dean pulls her into another hug, and Emma can't help but calm down. It just feels too nice. All of it is unbelievable, too terrible and too amazing at the same time. She  _can't_  give into it. She  _can't_  go back to square one.

"It's gonna be okay, trust me," he assures, hesitantly petting her hair.

And yet she  _really_  wants to. After Neal, she's forgotten just how good this feels, how much she actually misses this.

And maybe she just  _really_  has a thing for criminals.

Emma pulls away slightly, but not out of Dean's embrace. She just takes off her glasses and sets them on the nightstand. This is what he likes, isn't it?

She finds it comical just how easy it is to let it all go, stop thinking, have no morals. Emma turns off her brain and kisses Dean, throwing three years of resistance out the window. It's warm and assuring and gentle, and that's how she knows he's right—it's all going to be okay.

Emma is the one making the moves— _she_  sits him on the bed,  _she_  pulls his shirt over his head,  _she_  undoes his pants. All of Dean's touches are caresses, very soft as he treats her like there's nothing more perfect. It terrifies her just how fast she's melting in his hands and lips, kissing each of her freckles on her face and body. She reciprocates, heart pounding out of exhilaration more than uncertainty. In this moment, she does not regret the move she's made.

He's on his back, Emma atop him. There are condoms in his wallet, and he asks her if this is okay. Despite not knowing anything about him, she consents completely. She gives in and tells herself that she has control over the situation, despite the fact that nothing could be further from the truth.

Emma falls into his embrace and sighs, moving slowly. Dean takes into account just how overwhelming this is and seldom speaks. Everything moves together, and for a few moments, Emma is at peace with herself, and nothing is wrong.

Afterward, Emma rolls over and lays her head on Dean's shoulder, not sure what to do or say. She doesn't want this to be the awkward afterglow where she kicks him out or he leaves. She should be pissed at herself for this but she's  _not_ , not here and not now.

She's fallen into bed with a stranger and she wonders why this isn't making her mad when she's sworn off men forever. But there's just something about Dean that's both too assuring and too dangerous at the same time.

"I don't have work tomorrow," she declares, just to set him at ease. The diner is closed on Sundays, just to give its employees some freedom before the miserable coming week.

Dean knows this means not to leave, so he faces toward her. "And here I thought you didn't like me," he replies, stroking her arm gently.

"Tough wall to break is all," she assures.

They spend the next few hours just talking. There are some things they don't reveal, but Emma learns that Dean has a younger brother at Stanford with a full ride, that his mother died when he was four and to this day there's never been anyone more beautiful, and that his father—like him—is on the road working odd jobs to find solace. Broken as he is, at least he has a family on which he can totally fall back. He has people to miss, people to yearn for.

Emma, on the other hand, reveals that her parents abandoned her on the side of the road somewhere in Maine with nothing but a first name adorning a knit blanket. She talks about all her terrible foster homes, wondering what she did as a baby to be abandoned so cruelly. She explains how Neal stole her heart and just how he betrayed her and sent her to prison. She doesn't even leave out her son, and how she just wanted a better life for him. All the while Dean strokes her arm in sympathy and assures her that none of it is her fault—she's just been given a shitty hand and she's trying to make the most of it. Hell, she's probably done better than most in her situation, not resorting to drugs or other harmful things to solve her problems, and her crimes aren't  _too_  large.

"You're doing well," he assures, and the fact that he's the first person to tell her she's not a screw up and that's she's doing okay with her life so far after prison.

He's so much like Neal, and so much  _not_  like Neal that Emma still can't make heads or tails of him. He scares her, he exhilarates her, he makes her incredibly tense, and he makes her want to throw all her common sense out the window.

"And you're going to be bad for business, I can tell," she teases, though she hopes she's wrong on that.

Dean smirks and kisses Emma again, and she knows, they're rarely going to leave the bed for a long while.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Dean is usually in Emma's room, or she's in his, and though he's stopped going to the diner, he does give her money to bring him back a meal every once in a while. She suspects it's because he doesn't want to confront anyone after what he's done—sometimes Emma realizes she should chastise herself for sleeping with a  _murderer_ , but it's the charm, it's his ethics, it's… well, Emma is kind of happy, to be  _happy_  again, to the point where she's okay with these motions. Maybe she has this sort of  _hope_  that things will finally get better, and she's willing to do anything for it.

"I do have to admit, I miss your uniform," he comments in that tongue-in-cheek way she's starting to get used to.

"Yeah, well, the days where I never have to wear it again are what I look forward to most." Emma rolls her eyes; that pale yellow monstrosity makes her want to puke sometimes, with its puffed sleeves, Peter Pan collar, and modest (but still short) skirt. Of course it's what gets the geezers there in the first place, the promise of young women in short skirts and biting attitudes.

Dean plucks the greasy paper bag she's brought for him from her hands with a short kiss and Emma can't stand the fact that there are  _still_  butterflies in her stomach when their lips touch.

She can't stand the fact that she  _really_  likes Dean, because that always makes her too wary of the future.

His cell phone rings. It's been doing that a lot lately, she realizes.

"You gonna get it this time?" Emma raises a brow at Dean, trying to get a glance at the caller ID, but with no avail as Dean quickly denies the call and pockets his cell.

"Not that important," he says quickly, and while Emma knows he's hiding something, she knows she's not going to get anything out of him.

So she shrugs it off and sits on the bed, and he follows suit, starting to dig into his food. "And your day was…?" he asks, just being polite.

"You fill in the blank," Emma teases, flipping her hair. She's been wearing it down much more often, taking it out of its ponytail as soon as she changes out of her uniform. She realizes that, yeah, it does make her feel prettier to feel the loose blonde waves down her back. And no, it's  _not_  because Dean likes it.

"Terrible, as usual?" he guesses.

"Decent tips today." She shrugs. "Usually I do better if families sit in my station. But this  _really_  isn't something I wanna do for the rest of my life."

"Then what  _do_  you want to do?" he inquires, mouth full of beef and bacon.

"I don't know. But I need to get out of here soon. Found this place right outside Boston, and I  _almost_  have enough for the down payment," she explains, playing with her hands in her lap. One step closer to freedom. One step closer to a better life.

"You and me both. The place is kind of boring, but I'm used to backwater towns like this." Dean crumbles his wrapper and tosses it in the trash.

There's a huge difference between them. Dean doesn't have a home, much as he might want one. Emma is so close to finally having one, and she  _needs_  a set pace to be. She doesn't know what it feels like to  _fully_  move in someplace. And Dean doesn't remember either, but there's something in his life that parents him from settling anywhere.

There's a comfortable silence between them. Dean lays back and Emma follows, facing him on her side. He does the same and takes off her glasses and leans in so she can see him better, and he's smiling at her.

"You have a few freckles," he notices, reaching up to poke one.

Emma scrunches her nose in disgust. "Never liked 'em," she replies softly. "If I could afford more makeup I'd cover them up."

Dean chuckles and points to his own face. "Never remembered much of what my mom said to me, but she always said angels were watching, and that's why I've got 'em—apparently each freckle is an angel's kiss."

That makes Emma laugh. "If only!" she exclaims.

"Yours are cute, though."

"Shut up." Emma playfully shoves Dean and rolls her eyes again. "You're so full of it." But she's still smiling.

A few more moments and Dean leans in for a kiss—deeper this time. Emma reciprocates and lifts a hand up to cup his jaw, really enjoying the sharp angle of it, the firmness.

"Let's go somewhere tomorrow," Dean suddenly declares as he pulls away.

"You mean a date?" Emma asks, wondering why he doesn't just say it.

" _No_ ," Dean clarifies, smile suddenly gone.  _Ah_. So that's why. Of course, for a guy who's spent his whole life without commitments, he's not ready to start now. "But I'm bored of just sticking around here with a routine. So let's try something new."

"Now?" Emma looks hopeful.

"How about tomorrow after your shift? Plenty of time to grab a drink," Dean answers instead, shrugging.

"Sure," Emma agrees, a bit disappointed, but it's—for lack of a better word—a  _date_. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

Smirking, Dean reaches down and places a hand on her hip. "I have an idea or two…" he murmurs, and he seals her lips in a kiss.

For once, Emma is optimistic.

* * *

"Do you need to shower?" Emma asks Dean when the alarm from the clock goes off.

" _Hm_ —too early," Dean replies, groggy and muffled against the pillow.

She figures this is the case and shrugs, just thinking it's the polite thing to do. Luckily she's already  _un_ dressed, so she just grabs clean clothes and walks to the bathroom.

While under the too light spray she can't stop smiling thinking about the afternoon ahead. There's a lot more trust going on between her and Dean, and she knows this is a major step for him in whatever they have going on. Emma knows it's kind of terrible to be in such a vulnerable position, as it's never brought her any good before, but just the  _feeling_  of liking someone is too good for her to deny.

After three years, she  _needs_  this. She  _deserves_  this.

So when she finishes her shower Emma changes and leans over to give Dean a lingering kiss on his cheek, and he hums contently.

"See you soon, Ace," she murmurs, ruffling his short hair before shuffling out the door to her Bug.

And, much as she tries to stay as somber as Becca, who's been pretty pale ever since Minnie's "disappearance," Emma is still pretty chipper, even helping the new girl deal with the more rude customers. She gives a cheerful smile to all the people at her station, and it really pays off—the tips are pretty good today, and since it's paycheck day, that makes things even better. Even the uniform isn't really bothering her, nor are the leering pervs. Her shift seems to go by so much faster with her mind on her first date in what seems like so long.

She's practically humming when she changes and picks up her wages—Hank is fine paying her "under the table" with cash and she gladly pockets it. She'll get back, and she'll have Dean, and things can only go up from there. She can't even  _remember_  what happiness really feels like, that's probably why it feels so  _good_  right now. It doesn't matter that she knows nothing about him. Emma is blindly going with her gut just because she's  _so tired_  of pushing and resisting and failing to be selfless.

It takes everything within her to not rush so eagerly back to the motel. But she just hums and taps her fingers on the steering wheel to distract herself. She can do this without looking like a total idiot. She's done it before.

But that smile drops immediately as soon as she pulls into the motel parking lot and it's absent one very distinct '67 Chevy Impala.

 _Don't think the worst_ , she tells herself, taking a deep breath as she parks.  _He could be out to get some gas or something_. Emma will  _not_  hyperventilate or cry. That only shows weakness for a man, and Emma is  _not_  weak.

So maybe she'll just wait in her room, touch up her makeup and shake her hair out as she waits. Get herself to look  _good_ , if just to boost her own self-esteem.

But, as she walks in the door, she notices Dean's toothbrush is gone and there's a note on the nightstand—a folded up sheet of the motel's stationery with a few Franklins sticking out of it, and it's addressed to her.

Emma's heart sinks as she picks it up with shaking hands and slowly reads and processes the information.

"Emma,

I'm sorry, but duty calls. Here's for the rest of the down payment on that place—least I can do for leaving like this when you don't deserve it. But this is really important. Strong girl like you will do well out there. Maybe one day I'll see you again in Boston.

—Dean"

There's no last name. There's no phone number. There's no hint of where he might be going, nor if she'll ever see him again.

This, and her stupid memories, are all she has. And, like it or not, Emma has to live with them—can't just take them away with a flick of the wrist.

There is one thing he's given her, though. A lesson. A way out. Emma promised herself she wouldn't cry, and much as she would like to for being so stupid, she has to uphold this. If she had any dignity she would burn the money over the sink. Instead she pockets it, because this place is now poison. She can't stand it. It makes her sick.

So Emma packs all her things, checks out, fills up her tank, and  _breathes_  as she travels down the black, open road. She can't trust Dean, she can't trust anyone. She trusted Minnie, even, and she apparently killed Gil and Old Joe. No. She's gotta wear this stoic face to protect herself from now on, no matter  _how good_  the past few weeks might have been. She doesn't think about leaving poor Becca behind or bailing from her job. She doesn't think about her son or Neal.

No, she's running away again, like she always does. But this time her head is held high.

All she can think of is Boston, and that the next time— _if_ —she ever sees Dean again, he'd better watch his back.

* * *

He didn't put his mind too much to it as he left, he just  _drove_  like he always does. This isn't the first girl he's leaving behind, he tells himself. It's certainly not the last.

So why does this one kind of hurt a bit? Is it because Emma reminds him of Mary, of himself? Is it because he  _knows_  he's done her so completely wrong for running away like this after what she's told him?

No, gotta think about what John said. He's been calling so much and Dean's been ignoring them because of Emma, and because he's really liking his independence more and more. He's wrapped up this case; what's wrong with getting some tail?

But there was a  _connection_. Dean was starting to not only feel for this girl, but really  _like_  her as well. Hell, a few times he'd been considering  _telling_ her about the life. A girl like Emma doesn't show up too often, he knows.

Yet he hasn't given her any information about him. He just can't risk it. John would kill him at first, that's for sure. Sammy, if Dean still talked to him, would be happy. So what's better?

It's when Dean listened to all those voicemails this morning, though, that's when he had his decision made. He can't help who his family is and what happened all those years ago. And there's no forgetting that night.

He's fucked up colossally, he realizes. John might kill him  _now_.

He listens to the voicemails again, swallowing hard.

"Dean, call me. Need to know if you finished that werewolf case yet. Might be onto something."

 _Typical_. He always leaves a message like that after every case. Dean deletes it now.

"Dean, you need to call me back." John's voice is really stern. "I hope this ain't over some girl. You've got more important stuff to deal with. Think I found something on that son of a bitch."

The next few messages are like that. Dean deletes them all. He  _likes_  Emma. He wants to take her out, see if there's even more they have in common. It's really something he wants, someone he understands who can empathize back. And it's a goddamn chick flick moment, he knows that. It wouldn't be if maybe he's gotten to know her better and understand her, taken her up under his wing. She could be a decent hunter, he can tell. But it probably isn't want she wants.

It all comes to a halt in the last message.

"God damn it, Dean, where the hell has your head been these last few weeks? You're gonna put some  _girl_  you barely know over your own  _mother_? Come on, boy, y'know blood run thicker than water. And I found the demon, Dean. I finally found the son of a bitch that killed your mother and I'm tracking him."

John gives Dean a location; this was just the night before. And with one message Dean finds himself leaving without another thought. Emma  _could_  be that beacon of hope, on the other hand. And he's lost her because true, he hasn't known Mary like John has, but there's only one woman he's capable of loving, and she's sadly the ghost of a beautiful woman he'd only seen a bit in his childhood.

It's terrible because there's a semblance of her in Emma.

But overall, this is the right thing to do.

She's going to resent him; he's probably never going to see her again. They're going in opposite directions, but both toward their futures.

Emma's is to settle in Boston. Dean might just help his dad kill the bastard that killed Mary Winchester and put a close to this old mystery.

They are crossing stars. There was a tryst—a fun one. One if, given more time,  _might_  have turned into something more substantial. He sees John finally softening over time, Sam being more present. He imagines an alternate universe where perhaps he finds happiness with her.

But there is only the open road and a bleak future. Because when stars cross, things never end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also because this is set in canon-verse, there's no way they can run off together. I always liked to think that maybe they crossed paths somewhere before their shows start, and decided to write it. So, hopefully it's believable and that you like it!
> 
> As always, I love reading reviews!
> 
> Till next time,
> 
> ~Eliza


End file.
